


Dead Letters

by Katsha13



Category: Original Work
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's kind of the point, Mutual Pining, Other, this thing can fit so much hurt and pining in it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28319679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsha13/pseuds/Katsha13
Summary: An angel has been rendered mortal, reincarnating through the ages and regaining their memories over each lifetime. As they do, they write letters to their dearest friend, an angel of Death. However, for these letters to reach their friend, they too must "die"
Kudos: 3





	1. The Desk

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time actually sharing anything, but my friend encouraged me to, so here it is.

Paper - Printed, Shredded, Spread to the Wind

Do you remember the old writing desk? I remembered it today. It was cheap wood, but we had stained it to look nice. It was between the stacks of bookshelves and we each had a quill for writing. I used one of yours and you used one of the last of mine you had. I was hoping to find it, though I’m afraid the stains would have set in. I looked up old newspapers though and it seems they burnt the entire building after. Did you find it? Did you save the feathers? Were there any books left?

This is the longest I’ve gone in a while. I have to wonder if what is coming back is some fantasy or if it is real. The memories certainly feel as real as what I’ve known growing up. I can’t remember your face though. Sometimes I feel strong arms or wings holding tight. I can see your hair, or hear your voice, but I cannot see your face.

What happens if I fully forget? Will I become fully human, am I already? I know there is a reason for this, but I cannot remember. I just want to know. I don’t dare speak of this, for fear of the looks and scorn and pity. I do not feel as if I belong and these thoughts and memories are the only reason I can find.

Paper scraps - shredded and burnt

I think I saw you today. That poor nurse you followed looked so tired. Are you doing both jobs now? I hope my extended absence has not caused you extra stress. Perhaps when this is over I will find you again.

You look so somber when they are around. I couldn’t be sure it was you, but I thought I saw your hair from under the hood. It’s times like this I feel more sure in my memory.

***

  
He remembers them doing rounds together. He in his somber cloak, them with their doctor’s mask greying hair barely visible. When had things gotten worse? The desk? They had joked about their matching capes back then. Saying they matched and wasn’t it terrible that they couldn’t help much. Both of them basically filling the same role.


	2. The Desk - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this thing is *mostly* done? I think? I have a beginning, some sort of middle, and an end... but who knows
> 
> This is the only 2 part chapter right now. I couldn't think of a beginning bit.

Parchment and ink - burnt

Which do you suppose is worse, falling from grace, or the anticipation of it? Have I truly lost faith, or just faith in humanity? They hurt each other over such small things. Have I already fallen and this is it? They think themselves the pinnacle, so perhaps falling would be my rising. 

I fear they will come here, angry. After all, we break some of their rules of appearance right now. Perhaps next time I’ll be given the opportunity for dresses and skirts and we can avoid that. For now I suppose we will just have to enjoy time as it lasts. 

I hear shouting outside now. I think they are trying to get in, and it feels as if the wards have broken. I-

***

In the ashes, under the remains of a charred desk, lay two feather quills. One is broken. The wind stirs the remains of what used to be a letter and an angel weeps. 


	3. Ache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, another short one

Notebook paper - left in the rain 

Sometimes I think this body knows it wasn't meant to be, let alone be mine. The joints and muscles ache, and it feels wrong somehow. Sometimes I think I can feel phantom wings on my back, aching to stretch, but rolling my shoulders only brings pain. How is it possible to feel like myself but also trapped? I feel emotions, but I do not know if they are mine or if they are a product of being told how I should feel. 

I am afraid all of the time. I fear that someone will see that I am not my outward appearance and act on their anger. I fear that these memories are a fabrication and that I am somehow wrong for it. I have memories of these last 25 years and a few memories of several hundred before that, but the in between space holds nothing, as if I did not have time to form memories. 

I worry with all these times cut short you will be afraid to spend time for fear it will end too soon. Remember when they used to live to hundreds of years? Now it seems lucky if I make it past thirty for being different. I thought the suffering was supposed to lessen, but it seems to have merely changed shape. Is it my fault for trying to find answers? I sometimes think I can hear you saying “come find me” but it is so hard to go anywhere to look. 

***

They haven’t remembered how to read his responses yet. He wants to say “I’ll never stop being there,” but he’s had to, hasn’t he. Not fast enough ten, twenty times over. 


	4. Fall

Paper towel - wetted and buried 

I had the dream again. They say you are supposed to forget your childhood memories, but it has always stuck. I suppose it is more a nightmare by description. I remember getting smaller, weaker, and all the while somebody is speaking, but I can never remember the words when I wake. Only the fear and regret. I fell back asleep and dreamt my blankets were a cocoon of arms and feathers. How can a thought cause both comfort and immense sadness?

Unfired clay - washed clean 

Why? Why do they have to suffer? It seems terrible to make something you love and force it to feel pain. I hope you can forgive me what I have done. I will still try to fulfill my role, but I have to know. 

Does this make me fallen? I feel loss, but not of grace, more the loss of myself. I mourn what was, but I think this is the only way to find out. Hopefully it will not take long and I can return.

***

Everyone knows about the Fall, not many know of the lesser fall. They and their siblings had always been curious. It made it easier to find new ways to make and heal. But that curiosity caught where it shouldn’t have. Some of them fell all the way, some only to Earth. 

It hurt, but they always remembered eventually, always called out. That hole in his heart would slowly fill again amid whispers of “I’m sorry” and “It’s ok.”


	5. A Change

Papyrus - washed and cleaned for reuse 

I saw one of your siblings today. I don’t know if they saw me or recognized me. All of these small bands fighting, you must be busy. 

I have to ask, they were talking about a lack of those to care, did others leave? I know my siblings were also questioning, but I did not expect anyone else to go. I try to help, but their knowledge is limited and I must constrain myself. I feel some memory going, I hope it does not continue this way before I am finished. I hope to see you soon. 

Playbill - Trampled Under-hoof 

We went to a play today, I think you would have liked it. I am writing in the corner while I have time. There isn’t much of it these days.

This was a mistake. I should not have wished for this. My parents made me marry and he is kind enough when others are around, but not alone. I pretend you are here instead, soft voice and soft touches. 

When it’s time, can it please be you? I’m not sure I can stand this much longer. Why is there such a disparity in treatment. The last time was pleasant enough everything considered, I had free reign. My parents were kind and marriage was less a given option.

  
***  
  


A conversation: 

_It’s Ok. I Have You Now. It’s Safe._

But what about next time? I don’t think I’ve ever been this afraid. 

_I Don’t Know, But I Hoped I Could Distract You With A Picnic. it is your birthday after all. it would be a shame to have a bad ending to it._

And you won’t get in trouble for being late again?

_What’s a few hours to thousands of years! I brought your favorite cake, I hope it makes up for lost time a little_


	6. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I apologize for this one?

A card - thrown in the hospital trash

I keep getting ill. I never knew there could be this much suffering at once. I think I talked about you while I was under anesthesia. They called it a fantasy and laughed and I worried it was. I don’t remember it ever being like this, but you were always there. Maybe that is the difference. I’ve tried talking to your siblings when I see them, but they’re always so busy. They say that since you’re one of the oldest, you get the important jobs. There is a hole in my heart and I can’t seem to fill it. Coincidentally, there is also a very real hole in my heart. The doctors have done their best with that one though.

A Candy Wrapper - left in a pocket

I don’t understand anything that is happening right now. I see you and your siblings over the hill and strange memories come back… Don’t let me remember this one. Please.

***

To summon an angel of death takes some combination of stupidity and arrogance. Death cannot prolong life, the angels are but a courier. He was trying to find them when he was trapped. Trying to make this one turn out ok. These people want their son healed, he said he cannot do that. 

They are talking now, but he notices the small child peeking in the door. They have always been curious and being a child with no memories does nothing to stop it. She is shooed away and the adults nod to one another. 

He awakens to the door closing, and one of them says something about a life for a life. That isn’t how this works. He shouts at them  _ Do Not Hurt A Hair On Their Head _ . The circle breaks as a toy raven rolls across the chalk. Amid the thunderstorm he carries two children and the rain hides his tears. They shouldn’t have to remember this one either.


	7. Solstice

A Birthday Card - recycled

Did you read the cute message inside? You all have to be so busy now, I miss when we could settle, even for a small time. I saw the gift you left this morning, it was perfect. I only wish we could have shared the cake. Did you like the orchid?

I remembered our first birthday - the first time I saw you. You were working with a black hole (they’ve been studying travel with those!) and the streaming from the star nearby made it look like it was eating your hair. You laughed and said  _ It Wouldn’t Dare _ . 

Is that star still there? Or has it been stripped of the last of its red? Do you suppose a white dwarf can orbit a black hole indefinitely? I hope we can go back sometime.

There was a meteor shower last night… have you heard anything of my siblings? The ones who also left?

Happy Birthday - I’m naming the raven Orion, seemed fitting.

A stone tablet - broken

Just when I think we will get a birthday together, it seems there is a new war or illness going around! Just this once I would love a day to go through a garden or look at the stars again. Instead I suppose it will be another night of working in my tent while you ferry people around. 

Will you come back tonight? The rations aren’t much, but we could break bread together. 

***

Carefully he arranges mycelia and seeds where they will see it in the morning. This newest illness keeps them all busy, but a few moments to leave a note and gift should be alright. The tiny raven, fallen from its nest, will be a good companion while he is away. He sets it in a bed of moss atop the cake box and smiles. 

There is an orchid on the patio and he knows it must be for him. They complain about how delicate humans make the flowers sound, but he loves them. They might seem fragile, but really they are quite strong and hardy. He wonders if they can see the irony between the flower and their own self-image.


End file.
